


Endgame

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: A bit of rain, A trip to the theatre, Beckett is hard work!, Cormoran knows, Cormoran-esque swearing, Enjoyable, F/M, Ilsa knows, Nick knows, Pre Relationship, Robin and Strike are finally on the same page, a taxi rank, an opportunity too good to miss, but hard work!, giggling and in-jokes, just Robin and Cormoran haven't told each other yet, lots of darkness in the theatre, opportunities a-plenty!, robin knows, unspoken attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: Having gone to watch the production of Endgame at the Old Vic (knowing nothing about Beckett other than it is a bit odd and hard going!) I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it.....although I cannot claim to truly have understood everything that went on.Dusty Tassels is truly based on my observations and mine and Lula's squeezing.I let my imagination run a bit wild in thinking about Cormoran's views on the theatre and Beckett....and worked on the assumption that he'd endure ANYTHING in order to spend time with Robin.
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert/Nick Herbert, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 21
Kudos: 43





	1. Have you shaved your legs?

“Remind me again what the fuck I’m doing here, surrounded by oddly dressed people and wearing a decent shirt?” Strike’s slightly muted voice rumbled close to Nick’s ear as he ordered glasses of white wine and dubious small brewed beers in what his friend termed ‘kiddie sized’ cans.

“You’re here because the girls wanted to challenge themselves, AND because you want to spend time with Robin……don’t argue, you know you do!.....and…..Ilsa bought the tickets and told us we were coming too….and we’re both slightly scared of Ilsa!” Nick shrugged slightly as he picked up one wine glass and one poured out can of admittedly quite decent looking beer leaving Strike with the other drinks.

“I’m not scared of Ilsa……and I’m not even gracing your other comment with a response…..Robin is my work colleague, and I am not screwing things up by taking things any further….even though she is fucking stunning!” Strike glanced over to the other side of the small seating area and briefly allowed his heart eyes to flash in the direction of Robin who was laughing at something Ilsa had said, her amber hair shining in the lights from the theatre outside.

Nick grinned and shook his head, “You won’t need to say anything at all if you keep looking at her like that mate!”

Strike glared at his friend as they paused to allow an elderly gentleman with a cane to slowly cross their path towards the dress circle.

“Why the fuck are we watching Beckett? I fucking hate Beckett!....it’s all worthy and a bloody nightmare to read….all those sodding stage directions and moving in anti clockwise turns and straight lines.”

Nick flashed slightly surprised eyebrows, “I assumed it would be right up your street…..Ilsa seemed to think you’d studied it at Uni.”

“I DID! That’s how I know it’s usually a pile of old wank!” Strike tutted as they were finally able to continue towards the rest of their party who gave appreciative smiles at the sight of the wine.  
____

Whilst the men had been getting drinks for them, Robin and Ilsa had been hastily catching up and discussing the rationale behind the evening, as well as passing comments upon the relative merits of a decent pair of trousers and a crisp shirt on the physique of their escorts.

“Are you sure Cormoran’s gonna like Beckett? I’ve tried reading some of it…..I can’t make head nor tail of it! There are more stage directions than actual speech!” Robin hissed.

Ilsa calmly replied, “Look; he did it at Uni, I’m sure of it….and he’s HERE isn’t he?!....and looking rather dapper in that navy shirt!”

Robin hummed slightly in her chest; yes, she had noticed that her work colleague looked completely ravishable!  
“OK…..what did you actually tell Nick about all of this? Does he know?” she whispered, bending close to her friend despite the fact that the men were engaged in something linked to what looked like a wine list at the bar on the other side of the room.

Ilsa sighed slightly and shook her head, “Sorry, just a little distracted by Nick’s arse in those Paul Smith trousers….although Corm’s isn’t bad either!” she giggled, “What did I tell Nick? I just told him we’d decided to branch out a bit and had tickets to this and he was coming and he had to ask Corm….which he did, because he’s a good boy who I have trained well!”

Robin giggled at the comment and added, “Hmmm, more like he recognises when he’s got a good thing!”

Ilsa waggled her eyebrows, “So? Come on……killer crunch question time….have you changed your sheets and have your shaved your legs?”

Robin felt herself blush.  
She’d confided in Ilsa that her feelings towards Cormoran had started to take on a less professional focus in recent weeks, and having found herself doodling his name with love hearts instead of the ‘o’s rather than take down the details of a new client….which she’d later had to lie about and say that the phone line went dead (she still wasn’t sure Cormoran believed her!)….she’d decided she was tired of being cautious and had enlisted Corm’s oldest friend to assist her (having finally managed to calm down her excited seal clapping hands and grasping tickling fingers!)

“Yes,” she stated softly, noticing that the men were making their way back, impeded slightly by an elderly man with a walking stick.  
Ilsa squealed slightly and restrained herself from a further bout of clappy hands, “Knickers?” she asked; one eyebrow arched in a female James Bond style. 

Robin pursed her lips, “Am I wearing any? Yes of course I am!” she hissed.

“OK, but are they nice ones…or M&S?”

Robin grinned and hastily answered, “M&S…..but the Rosie Hunter M&S range!” managing to finish the line and flash a grateful smile of thanks towards the glass of white wine Strike proffered.

“OK?”  
His deep, growling voice was almost torture to her, although she found herself craving his presence and his smell…..Christ she was horny!

“Yeah….fine….erm, we were just discussing the 2 plays,” she took a hefty slug from her wine glass and avoided Ilsa’s eyeline.

Nick thankfully intervened, “Yeah, we were talking about them too…..pretty mixed reviews, but decent actors so……” Nick realised he had no idea what else he could say….he knew nothing about the play, despite having skimmed through the copy of End Game, which he had been surprised to find was so slim.  
Strike perched on the jauntily coloured upholstered stool and realised that the fake part of his leg was pressed up against Robin’s, and not for the first time he rued his disability.  
The opportunity to feel the warmth or softness of her body against his was right there…..but she was seated on the wrong side of him….so she was currently being crushed by the hard metal of his pin instead.

Robin was inhaling wafts of Cormoran due to the cosiness of the seating, and she was dimly aware that her calf was pressing up against his prosthetic limb. She partly wished it was his full leg; but when he didn’t pull away she became ridiculously moved and hopeful.  
There was a time when he would have instantly apologised and snatched any contact with his partial limb away from her…..and here he was now, pressing his metal pin against her leg as if he was perfectly comfortable with her knowing of his limitations…….it was ridiculously erotic!

Ilsa noticed their bodily connection and also the fact that Robin was pink cheeked and gulping down her wine and gave a tiny, inward squeal of excitement.

“Ilsa said you studied Beckett at university,” Robin managed to state, noting Strike’s slightly foamy upper lip as he gulped down a hefty slug of his craft ale….which was actually pretty decent he hated to admit!  
“I did….erm…I’ve never seen it performed though,” he stated, trying to take the tone of derision out of his voice. 

Nick butted in, “From what I’ve heard this production is quite ‘Un-Becketty’ in that it is….. lighter than usual.”

Strike covered his desire to quip something along the lines of “that can’t be fucking hard!” by sipping more beer and appraising Robin’s ridiculously sexy, to his eyes, choice of outfit for the evening.  
The deep, slightly shimmering plum colour of her off the shoulder sweater showed off her glorious hair, which fell in soft waves and teased the expanse of creamy skin visible now that she had removed her tan coat. Black, clingy trousers covered her legs, but fell fluidly from her thighs, meaning her hips and arse was shown off perfectly. 

Nick glanced at his watch and suggested they start to move through to their seats, taking their drinks in plastic beakers through with them.  
They were in the circle, on higher, almost stool height flip down seats.  
They were actually the perfect height for Cormoran with his long limbs, and he silently mused that this could be the most comfortable he’d ever been in a theatre. Robin’s high heeled boots meant that she was closer to the height required for the seat, but with her drink and coat in hand was struggling to choreograph flipping down the seat part and also clamber up.  
Strike reached out to hold down the seat as she wriggled her way into place, her backside nestling briefly against his knuckles as he tried (honestly, he tried!) to remove his hand before she trapped it.

“Ooops!” she giggled and cleared her throat, hoping that the warmth she felt in her cheeks (yes, all of them!) wouldn’t show in the dim light.

Ilsa sat herself next to Robin, with Nick on the end of the row.  
The seats offered a pretty decent view of the stage and as usual the four of them glanced around at the unfamiliar theatre, none had watched anything there before as it was slightly further out of the way than many of the traditional London theatres.  
The opening of the circle was draped with an almost bunting type fabric decoration, each triangle shaped section finished with a large, beige toned tassel.  
Robin’s eyes were drawn to the one directly infront of her, “I wonder how much dust there is on those?” she wrinkled her nose as Strike’s line of vision followed hers.

“Bloody hell! Haven’t they ever heard of a hoover attachment, those are filthy!” he stated, glad of an opportunity to think of something other than how delicious his co-worker’s arse had felt pressing against his hand, a hand that he was now clenching and rubbing against his thigh.

“They are indeed incredibly dusty tassels,” and she quirked her full, crimson lips into a smirk, glancing seductively sideways at Strike’s amused face.

“Sounds like a member of the Chippendales!” he sniggered.

Robin’s shoulders hunched as they began giggling together, their heads close as they quipped comments:  
“Introducing Dusty Tassels!”

“Dusty Tassels and the hoover of doom!”

“Dusty Tassels two, the revenge of the tassel!”

They were slapping each other’s arms and trying valiantly to control their shared mirth, oblivious to Nick and Ilsa who had nudged each other and were watching with barely concealed affectionate incredulity.

“Do they know how bloody obvious it is?” Ilsa whispered, shrugging her hands as Robin reached across and dragged Strike’s body closer before whispering something illegible and reducing Cormoran to further sputtering mirth.

Nick shook his head, “He’s crazy about her though….I mean look….any opportunity to touch her….LOOK!” He hissed the final statement as they watched him grasp hold of her knee, an effort to assist her from falling off the tall seat and swipe a few tendrils of her hair from where they had caught on her lipgloss.

“Can you two calm it down…this is Beckett don’t you know……we’re not supposed to be amused…..we’re supposed to be deep and thoughtful….and prosaic!” Ilsa quipped, attempting to generate a degree of authority in her voice, but failing and resulting in more chuckling laughter from the giddy pair beside her.

Robin however clearly started to tell Strike to “Ssshhh, behave!” as the bell was heard out in the foyer and the seats around them started to fill up.  
Robin coughed and controlled her voice as she commented, “So, this first play is what? A seldom performed short?” she read from the programme.

“Yeah, not sure why it isn’t done often….suppose it is to do with the actors…” Nick mused outloud.

Strike silently mused that most likely it wasn’t performed often because it was a pile of shite, but merely sipped on his rapidly dwindling beer and tried to think about the little amusing interaction he’d just shared with Robin…..trying not to think about how they perfectly ‘got’ each other, about how they could reduce each other to giggling wrecks with the smallest facial expression or chosen phrase.  
He knew that the idea of Dusty Tassels would continue in their shared future….they had a plethora of shared ‘in jokes’ – one or the other needed only to mention Boggle, or blankets, or door knobs and they were both giggling wrecks!

It was really great to have that kind of friendship with someone…..and the fact that he wanted to drag her lips to his and kiss the fuck out of them would just have to live somewhere pushed deep down inside him.

The house lights went down and the curtain rose onto a Beckettian stark stage set, with two tables, lamps and a figure standing at a window as if to jump.  
Robin watched, trying to take in what was happening, trying to ignore that Strike smelled delicious beside her and that his thigh had moved to rest against her leg.

Ilsa watched, trying to figure out if the person in the open window was a real person or a mannequin…..he was bloody still!

Nick watched, trying to get his head around the fact that Daniel Radcliffe was both 30 years old and had been born in 1989….which didn’t both seem like they could be true facts!

Strike watched, aware that the shadows cast by the tables and lamps resembled a set of balance scales on the backdrop, which he thought was clever……but mainly he just cast furtive glances at Robin, mesmerised by how seriously she was taking the ‘action’ and desperately hoping that she’d mistake his leg for her own in the darkness!

He avoided glancing up at the dust covered, beige tassels.


	2. Looks like we're on the same page!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Cormoran do a little online research at the interval before the main play.  
> Afterwards everyone is a little Becketted out, and it is raining, and Cormoran is holding her umbrella, and one thing leads to another.  
> There is a little smut, but more of a hint at what goes on rather than a full frontal attack!

A little short of 30 minutes later, the stage slid back with the actors frozen in their final positions, the curtain fell and as applause sounded out Nick caught Strike’s eyeline above the heads of the ladies.  
The expression on Nick’s face was one familiar in a Beckett audience – a mild bafflement combined with the painful knowledge that there is more to follow!

“Right….I need another!” Strike announced, waggling his long empty plastic beaker and swiping up Robin’s, “Same again?”  
She nodded and picked up her small shoulder bag, she and Ilsa taking bets on the length of the queue for the ladies loos as Nick and Cormoran made their way to the bar for refills.  
As they waited to attract the attention of the bar staff Nick puffed out his cheeks and regarded Strike.

“I told you Beckett is a pile of old wank!” Cormoran stated, wondering whether Nick would mind him nipping out for a cigarette rather than keep him company at the bar.

Nick tried to form appropriate words, eventually managing to mumble, “I think perhaps the fella at the window was only there because he’d been forced to watch this for the past month….bloody hell it’s a bit hard work isn’t it?”  
Strike gave their order to the friendly and attractive young lady serving behind the bar and smirked at his companion, “Well, the bad news is that the first one was the so called ‘light hearted’ one! It gets bleaker from this point onwards!”

Nick looked aghast.  
“But Ilsa and Robin looked like they were really into it…..we’re gonna look like a right pair of knobs if we turn round and say it was all a pile of shite!” 

Cormoran took a gulp from his fresh beer, “I don’t care if I look like a knob!”

“Robin specifically chose a Beckett play because she thought you’d enjoy it….if you tell her you think it’s crap you won’t get in her knickers!” Nick hissed, regarding his friend’s dead pan expression as he battled with his conscience…..remaining true to his views or possibly getting laid!

“I’m not getting in her knickers anyways,” he mumbled as they pushed away from the bar balancing 3 glasses each in their splayed fingers, “But maybe we should look up something suitably intelligent sounding on Google.”  
Nick passed his friend a nodding smile.  
“However as soon as I dump these, I’m off for a fag!”

In the lengthy queue for the ladies Ilsa and Robin were subdued in their discussion.   
Everyone around them appeared to be talking at length about the ‘charming interplay between the actors’ and the ‘dynamic new life they breathed into a static piece of drama on the page.’  
Ilsa flashed her friend a look which screamed, “What the actual fuck?” before disappearing behind the small cubicle door and being able to relax her cheeks from where she had been biting them as they waited their turn.  
As she wrestled with her jumpsuit and cardigan combination her phone buzzed and a brief text exchange took place as she and presumably Robin too pee’d:

R – What the fuck are these people talking about?

I – Not a clue….I just want to know if that guy standing on the ledge was a real guy!

R – He didn’t move….imagine if that was your job…every bloody night!

I – More importantly though Corm looked like he was enjoying it….he had one of his wistful faces on.

R – Did he? When were you looking at him?

I – Quite a bit…..and he was mainly looking at you or staring at the stage….he looked like he loved it!

R – Oh God! Now I’ll have to pretend to like Beckett won’t I? I thought it was a pile of wank! We didn’t think this through!

I – You can tell him the truth post coitally!...I’m sure he won’t mind you hating Beckett if he’s just had a blow job!

R – ILSA!!!!!....but I like your logic!

After a brief, and freezing foray into the London street in order to suck down 2 cigarette’s worth of nicotine in the time he would usually imbibe only one, Cormoran had relocated Nick and the pair were hunched over their devices.  
“Here we go,” Strike indicated that his search had been fruitful, “Cumming; blind and gap toothed is a commanding presence.”

“I’ve got another, “Nick indicated, “Individual lines are weighted by what surrounds them.” Both men exchanged pained looks, “I mean what the fuck does that even mean?!” Nick hissed.

Strike shook his head, “The two aged dustbin dwellers are magnetic, like Bill and Ben the flowerpot men,” and he caught Nick’s confused expression.

“Which dustbins?....There are people in dustbins?” he asked.

“Nick, mate, you’re in for a treat…..head’s up, they’re back!” and Strike put away his phone and reached to pass Robin her fresh wine.

“Thanks,” she beamed. Strike noticed that she had reapplied her lipstick and longed to get to work on removing it.

They heard the bell sound for people to resume their seats and the foursome took their seats once more, this time Cormoran offered to hold Robin’s wine for her as she got herself seated, slightly to her chagrin, but as the house lights once more went pitch black she felt satisfied to be seated beside Cormoran’s warm, manly and now slightly smoky aroma.

An hour later applause rang out around the auditorium and the actors gave a curtain call as Robin tried to work out whether Alan Cumming’s legs in the chair had actually been real or fake…and if fake how the hell was he sat inside the chair?

Strike regarded her deeply contemplative face as she clapped and thought her wonderful…..he’d spend a lifetime enduring wanky Beckett plays if it meant spending time with her!  
Nick caught his friend’s soppy eyed gaze and flashed his eyebrows at him, receiving a grudging death stare back.

“Well, Alan Cumming was definitely commanding despite being blind and strapped to a chair,” Nick precised as they made their way down the somewhat stark staircase which led directly onto the street, earning a bemused look from his wife.

Robin nodded, “Do you think the boy Clov saw outside was really a boy? Or was it him as a child do you think….sort of saying he wanted to have a different life?”  
Strike gave her an impressed, almost heart eyed look which was not lost on Ilsa and Nick.

“Well, Beckett did repeatedly say that there is no deep meaning in it….it’s just all in the text….so….he would probably argue that it is just a small boy outside….but I think I prefer your possibility more, it’s certainly more romantic in the wider sense,” Strike stated as they found the pavement and he immediately lit up a cigarette.

Ilsa cleared her throat, “Well, I thought for a moment we were about to see Harry Potter’s little wand when he started taking his trousers off and chucking that powder down below!”  
The foursome all laughed and shared their recollections of what had undoubtedly been one of the more memorable moments on stage as they crossed over the road from the theatre and considered whether to risk the tube – it wasn’t the right line for Nick and Ilsa, nor for Robin, and it had started to rain a little, so they decided to opt for the opportunely placed taxi rank.

They said their goodbyes as Cormoran smoked a further cigarette, thereby allocating the first of the taxis which pulled up to the Herberts.  
The taxi rank was then empty and Robin and Cormoran stood together with Robin’s folding umbrella held above them both in Strike’s un-cigarette filled hand.

“So….you liked Beckett then?” he stated, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

Robin screwed up her face slightly, “Honestly? I was mainly side tracked by Alan Cummings’ legs….I mean, were they fake? 'Cos if they weren't then I think the man might be ill!”

Strike let out a loud, rumbling guffaw beside her, “Seriously? You didn’t enjoy it? You looked mesmerized by it….I mean, when I glanced across and noticed…you know!”

Robin met his eyes and held his gaze, “I think Beckett is a pile of poo!” she announced loudly, “I do!” she added to the startled face of a random passerby, "Complete twoddle!"

“So why the hell did you book tickets and come to see it then?” Strike asked, crushing the filter of his fag under his heel.

Robin shrugged, “ It was Ilsa’s idea really….and she suggested Beckett because you studied it she said.”

Strike let out a further loud peel of laughter, “Well, I did study it, briefly, but that’s how I already knew, before this evening, that it’s garbage that I just don’t understand!”

“So why the hell did YOU come then? If you already knew you hate Beckett, why the hell didn’t you just say no?”

Strike shrugged minimally and blushed a little, “Because……Ilsa told me I had to come…..and we’re all slightly scared of her, although none of us would dare tell her that!”

Robin grinned broadly at him. The light drizzle had spattered tiny, diamond-like droplets across his wide shoulders.  
“That’s true!” Robin replied, enjoying that his eyes had crinkled at the sides and his lips had taken on the softness she had seen when he had frequently fallen asleep on the office sofa.

She was thinking about earlier in the evening when his thigh had been pressed against hers; when his knuckles had been in contact with her arse; when they’d been giggling like schoolkids over the dust covered bunting inside the theatre.

“I bet even Dusty Tassels would be terrified of her!” she added, wanting to try to recapture something of their intimacy from inside the theatre.  
Strike inhaled and stifled a slight whimper in his throat as he recalled their closeness; the scent and feel of her hair; her breath near his neck as she whispered their shared joke.  
He also realised that they were standing very close; brought on by trying to shelter from the increased rainfall under the small umbrella.   
He could smell the same, delectably subtle perfume of her once more, and it brought a yearning to his belly at the thought that when the next taxi drew up the scent as well as the moment would be gone.

Throwing caution to the wind he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, catching the subtle alteration to Robin’s features before he eventually formed words, “That isn’t the only reason I agreed to come….I…..I wanted to spend time with you,” and he reached out his free hand to softly caress Robin’s soft cheek, illuminated by the street light and the random, colourful design from her umbrella.  
Robin found herself not pulling away, infact she leaned into the warmth of his hand and found herself smiling into the slightly anxious green eyes staring down at her.

“Well……OK then…..look’s like we’re on the same page,” she stated, smiling and inching her mouth closer to his slightly parted lips.

Their first kiss was rudely interrupted before it really began by the rattling arrival of a black cab.

“Fucking hell….can I not catch a pissing break here?!” Strike admonished, but with mirth behind his gruffness.  
Robin smiled and intertwined her fingers with his, pulling him towards the vehicle with her.

“I’d say you’ve caught a break,” she purred, glancing at him over her shoulder and deftly removing the umbrella from his frozen hand in order to pull it closed, “Get in…..you can help me come up with 101 scenarios involving Dusty Tassels!”  
Cormoran ducked into the cab and stared unashamedly at Robin as she gave the driver her address.

“Can we ditch that idea?” he asked, running his palm across Robin’s thigh and catching her small hand.  
Robin giggled and gazed at him through eyes which he saw were aroused and laced with sensuality, “Depends on whether you have a better idea,” she stated softly, moving her head closer and running her nose along the soft stubble of his jaw.

Strike exhaled in a rumbling growl, “I’ve got about 20 better ideas, but only one of them is just about legal in the back of a taxi!” and he dipped his mouth to finally capture the pouting, crimson lips he’d been fantasising about all evening, finding them soft and yielding to the pressure of his own.

Robin gasped into his mouth and closed her eyes as his hand angled her neck and deepened the exploration of their tongues and lips.

He kissed her all the way across the Thames, all the way past Soho and most of the way towards Hackney.   
When they finally drew apart he noticed that her lips were even more darkly coloured than they’d been at the start of the evening when her lipstick was pristine.

They drew up as close to her small flat in it’s location above a betting shop down a pedestrianised street as possible.   
Cormoran paid using the company credit card, and glowered at Robin’s slightly chastising face, “Oh come on…..live dangerously Ellacott!” he quipped, feeling about ten feet tall as she held her hand out to him, earning several appreciative glances from passersby.

They ignored the rain as they walked the short distance, although Cormoran did engulf Robin beneath his massive overcoat.

He kissed her as she fumbled with her keys in the door; she kissed him all the way up the staircase and they kissed each other as they fell into her flat and quickly moved from the small sofa into her bed.

Robin woke first; naked and curled into the heavy, hairy embrace of masculinity.   
She could see their hastily removed collection of clothing and a prosthetic limb strewn across her bedroom floor and gave a small whimper at the memories of the night before.  
They’d kissed….a lot, and he’d been the most amazingly thorough and unashamedly wanton sexual partner she had ever known.   
He’d wordlessly conveyed his intentions, making her feel safe, unpressured in everything that followed, and when they’d eventually made love in the early dawn light they’d both cried out each others’ names as they tensed and came together.

Softly whispered discussions about their feelings, and what they wanted to happen next had followed as they lay satiated in each others’ arms, eventually leading to deep slumbers, interrupted once by Strike who woke to empty his bladder, and returned to find Robin blinking up at him and looking so delectable that he’d delved under the duvet cover to devour her.

She felt completely happy and wriggled her toes thinking back to the sensation of Cormoran leaving her panting and almost screaming his name, and felt a rumbling growl behind her, combined with a tightening of the arm which was slung across her shoulders.  
“Are you awake?” he asked, nuzzling his hot breath against her neck and making her shiver and nod.

“Mmm hmmm,” she answered, wriggling around in his arms as he rolled back and lifted the covers, pursing his lips and staring open mouthed beneath.

“We seem to be naked, Ellacott! What have I missed while I was asleep? Did you take advantage of me?” he asked, grinning broadly and groaning as her hand explored his mat of chest hair.

“Do you need a reminder?” she quipped, and squealed slightly as he grunted and rather Neanderthal-like dragged her body up onto his, so that her face was directly above his own.  
He kissed her softly, and then deeply when she urged his mouth open and slid her tongue into his, happy to ignore their shared morning breath, finding that he tasted slightly of her anyway!

He rested his clasped fingers in the nape of her back as she eased back, resting her bent elbows and forearms on his chest, allowing her fingers to toy with his riotous curls.  
“Ilsa suggested I tell you I hate Beckett after giving you a blow job!” she grinned down as his eyebrows arched in a manner reminiscent of James Bond.

“Damn it! Why’dya have to tell me that now that I already know!?” and he squeezed her tighter, “Although…..I mean…..some parts of last night are a bit blurry…..you know….if you wanted to not disappoint Ilsa, her being all scary and stuff……”

“Maybe later….I’m comfy,” Robin smiled, wriggling herself in a manner which made him instantly less comfortable, in the most glorious way!

“You do realise that we now have to have Beckett as our thing!” she stated, stroking the tip of her index finger along his eyebrows, upper lip, lower lip and nose before he captured it with a nibbling suck.

“Are we going to have to go to Beckett plays to celebrate our anniversaries?” he groaned.

It was Robin’s turn for her eyebrows to almost blend into her hairline.  
“Plural? You see us having more than one anniversary?” she asked.

He rolled her to one side and regarded her as if he’d not given the subject any thought at all; as if his train of thought was the only possible one to consider, “Yeah!.....don’t you? I mean….why would you want to give up all this?” and he pushed out his hairy stomach as he gestured up and down his body with his hand.

Robin giggled with him, “How could I possibly refuse?! Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot more wanky Beckett plays then!”

He nodded alongside her, “Sounds perfect to me….I love Beckett....can't get enough of the old soak!” and proceeded to spend the next hour or so reacquainting his lips with every inch of his work colleague.


End file.
